


Of Laughing Matters

by Aate



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Civil War, Gen, The Phone, Tony Stark Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aate/pseuds/Aate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*POST CIVIL WAR*</p><p>Tony tries to deal with the aftermath of the Civil War. Even though he's at his comfortable home and not living the life of fugitives, he can't help but feel like he's the one who was left behind.</p><p>I'll add tags after each chapter.</p><p>*****</p><p>Please do not save my fics on fanfics.me. I don't want them saved there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Civil War was awesome and there needs to be more fics about it. This is my contribution. Please be gentle.

Here's the thing, and wasn't it just hilarious, a real fucking haha all the way to Siberia and back: He had honestly, earnestly, with all good intentions, tried to do his goddamn best. He had given his all to keep the team together. He had – in vain – given _his very best effort_ to make sure his friends were safe.

That wasn't yet the funny part, though, it was just the setting for the joke.

The punchline came gradually a punch after a punch, and it left him alone in an abandoned HYDRA compound in Siberia, wounded and encased in a metal suit that had a heart just as broken and shattered as his own.

Tony was now kneeling there on the cold ground, picking up pieces of his Arc Reactor and its casing, piece after miserable piece. They clinked against each other when he dropped them onto his opened palm, against the metal of his hand, and Clint – had he been there – might have come up with something sarcastically poetic about the whole situation, like something about Tony picking up pieces of his own nonexistent heart. But Clint wasn't there, was he. No-one was there, except for Tony and five dead HYDRA soldiers, and for once in his life, Tony couldn't- Tony wasn't- Tony _didn't_ -

 _Because Steve had chosen Barnes_ , even knowing what Barnes had done to Tony's family, even after watching the recording of Barnes beating Tony's dad to death, of Barnes leisurely walking to the passenger's side and putting his hand around Maria Stark's throat, strangling her, killing her. Steve had _known_ that Barnes had killed Tony's mom and dad, and he had _made the conscious choise_ to keep the truth from Tony.

Steve had forced Tony down in order to help Barnes up, and that was betrayal on another level completely. Steve was hardly the first person whom Tony had trusted only to be left helpless and incapacitated, but it turned out, it didn't hurt any less this time around. It actually hurt more.

Tony never learnt his lesson, it seemed.

His injured arm was throbbing with pain and his fingers were shaking, not from the cold, but from the mix of emotions he didn't dare to study closer. The pieces of the Arc Reactor's casing kept slipping from his fingers, he felt sick to his stomach, he felt cold all over, he couldn't stop trembling, he felt light-headed and weak, and yet, had James Barnes still been there, he wouldn't have hesitated to launch himself at the man again.

Murdered. His parents had been _murdered_. And the murderer had just walked from his grasp with the help of Captain America, one Steve Rogers, the fucking _epitome_ of all that was well and good in the world, the one _hero_ of whom his dad hadn't ever stopped talking with such pride and fondness he never used when refering to Tony – _"Steve Rogers, Anthony – now, that was a true man! If you could be half as decent as Steve Rogers was..."_ – and wasn't that, too, just hilarious.

In the end, Tony decided, it wasn't.

Steve Rogers hadn't just betrayed Tony Stark, but he had also betrayed Howard and Maria Stark – because of Steve Rogers, there would be no revenge, no avenging, not even justice for Tony's parents.

Siberia's bitter cold air had frozen the tear tracks on his cheeks by the time he had picked up all the pieces of the Arc Reactor and its casing, but the helpless rage hadn't yet cooled down.

Tony didn't know how long it took for FRIDAY to send him help, but it couldn't have been more than a few hours till his autopiloted chopper came back and landed in front of the compound, ready for his use. When FRIDAY had confirmed that it was indeed Anthony Stark who was trying to gain access to the chopper, he was finally allowed in. He climbed aboard, shivering and hurting and _alone_. The warm air inside the helicopter caressed his face like a kiss from a mother and he leant his head against the headrest, closing his eyes, as the door closed with an electronic hiss.

"I'm glad that you are in a reasonably good condition, boss," FRIDAY greeted him, sounding grave. "I wouldn't have allowed anyone else access to this helicopter had it turned out that you had been killed during your encounter with Captain Rogers and James Barnes."

"Thanks," Tony muttered, opening his eyes.

While Tony fastened his seatbelt, mindful of his hurting arm, FRIDAY gave him an account of the situation – she had contacted Rhodey the moment Iron Man's communication had been cut off, informing the man that Tony might be injured and in need of a rescue and medical help, but now that Tony had been located intact, she had already informed Rhodey of the change in circumstances and cancelled the need for further assistance.

Tony listened half-heartedly. He wondered if Steve had planned on eventually contacting someone to let them know the coordinates to Tony's location, just in case Tony wouldn't have been able to leave the compound on his own now that his suit was without power. He dismissed the thought as soon as it had come: Rogers might have spared Tony's life when he had slammed the shield into the Arc Reactor instead of Tony's neck, but that was likely more for Rogers' own peace of mind than for Tony's sake. The man would hardly care if Tony was to freeze or starve now that he wouldn't be responsible for Tony's death himself. Perhaps Steve even figured, Tony thought bitterly, that Tony's death would be one less problem for him and Barnes.

A stubborn part of his mind was insisting that he should still give Steve the benefit of doubt, and he turned the autopilot off to occupy his mind with flying so he wouldn't need to listen to those annoying and unreasonable demands.

He flew a few rounds over the compound, trying to find anything that would lead him after Rogers and Barnes, but it was like the two of them had disappeared into thin air. That assessment didn't seem to be too far off, as FRIDAY could eventually point out four tracks in the snow, tracks that all led to a place where an aircraft of some kind had landed, but whatever had once been there, was now gone, and with it, Tony presumed, Rogers and Barnes and whoever had been with them.

"The aircraft was headed to southeast during the take-off," FRIDAY informed him, "but I can't determine or estimate the direction to which it might have taken off."

Hearing this, Tony grew as silent as the white vast landscape all around them, and after a while he turned FRIDAY's audio off so he didn't have to listen to her worried inquiries any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to let me know, if you liked what you read. :)


	2. Chapter 2

The letter arrived and, with it, the piece of outdated crap Tony gradually began to think of as The Phone. Initially Tony didn't know what he should have done with them so he locked both the letter and The Phone into his most secure desk and, just for the heck of it, invented a couple of extra locks, which he then attached to the desk so no-one could get around snooping.

When he wasn't with Rhodey or Vision, or working - or, on occasion, dealing with Ross in a manner that would have made even Nick Fury proud - he spent his time at the desk, rereading the letter and turning The Phone this way and that, checking the contact list's only number for the umpteenth time, his thumb absent-mindedly caressing the buttons while his mouth cursed Captain America and swore revenge on the Winter Soldier.

He began to drink again and stopped going to his AA meetings. He wasn't proud of that, but nor was he ashamed. Drinking helped him deal with things so he tried to convince himself that it didn't much matter. Sometimes the alcohol made him sad and then he whispered his regrets to The Phone, careful to not actually call anyone, his tears leaving smudges on Steve's carefully composed letter, much to his shame.

After yet another occasion when he had been glaring at The Phone with only a bottle of Black Bourbon for company, he snatched a red marker from the Hulk-shaped pencil holder and marched straight into the gym where Captain America was giving him thumbs up, smiling at him encouragingly from a huge shiny poster on the wall, put up there by Clint who had, at the time, seemed to think it was somehow the ultimate Avengers joke.

That's where Vision found him shortly after, in the midst of squeaky marker sounds. For a while, he observed Tony quietly with his head slightly tilted in a way which Tony would have never admitted he found endearing.

”May I ask what you are doing?” asked Vision, sounding earnestly bemused. ”Or rather, I observe you are drawing a phallus on a poster of Captain America, but might I inquire for what purpose?”

”Because,” snapped Tony, ”this is my very mature and constructive approach to dealing with issues.”

”Oh,” Vision's voice was soft. Then, in a bit stronger tone, he added, ”I must admit I still do not quite understand. Why a phallus? And why on the poster? I presume there must be a connection I fail to understand. Please, pardon me my curiosity.”

Finished with the drawing, Tony put the cap on the marker and took a step backwards to look at his work. There, onto Steve Rogers' smiling face, he had drawn a shape easily recognizable as a penis and a pair of hairy testicles. He snorted to himself and, satisfied, gave Vision a sideways glance, wrapping an arm around the male's shoulders.

”Look at that, my dear,” he said, gesturing towards the poster with the marker. ”There you can see two dicks.”

Vision blinked, bewilderment clear on his face.

”I can only count one.”

”You probably missed the one I just drew.” Tony let go of Vision and twirled around, turning his back to the poster, stumbling a little as the abrupt movement made his buzzed mind dizzy. ”It's admittedly hard to see my drawing from that bigger dick.”

”Oh,” said Vision with audible comprehension, looking at the poster with intent. ”Now I understand – you were refering to Captain Rogers, but simultaneously expressing your displeasure with him by comparing him to male genitalia.”

”My point,” said Tony, raising his voice just the slightest bit, pointing the marker in Vision's general direction, ”was that Steve Rogers _is a dick_! Don't you go overanalyzing it, buddy, okay? Steve is a dick and that's all you need to know.”

”Perhaps so,” mused Vision in his placating manner, giving Tony a searching look, ”but if you truly thought so, I doubt you would have been so careful as to not draw over his eye.”

Reluctantly, Tony looked at the poster over his shoulder. And yeah, he could sort of see what Vision meant: the balls were huge and round, but the dick itself was on the noticiably shorter size, ending just below Steve's left eye, as if Tony had rather left it short than continued drawing over Steve's eye. In truth, it _would_ have felt wrong if he had blogged Steve's vision with a detached schlong and so he hadn't done it, ridiculously sentimental or not.

”He's a dick,” Tony mumbled, aware that he was slurring, ”but that doesn't mean he should be stabbed in the eye with one. And what did I just say about overanalyzing things?”

”Jeez," he grumbled, stepping towards the door. "You're worse than Romanov.”

”In many ways I am,” agreed Vision's voice from behind him, ”but however it may be, I suspect that you and I are both having unpleasant feelings regarding the absence of the people we have become accustomed of calling our friends. I wonder how they fare, I miss their presence. I have experienced sensations that are best described as 'heartache' and 'worry'.”

Coming to a halt, Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He did not want to discuss this, certainly not now, but it was his responsibility to be there for the two friends who still remained by his side.

”They'll be fine,” he therefore promised, not turning around to meet Vision's gaze. ”I'll do my best to make sure of that.”

”I know,” Vision's voice was quiet and full of compassion. ”I do not doubt your good intentions, Anthony; it is the uncontrollable circumstances that worry me.”

Tony couldn't help but snort.

”Welcome to the life of humans,” he said with mock cheer, struggling to slip the marker into his trouser pocket. ”Nothing is predictable, except unpredictability.”

”Then I shall expect the unpredictable.”

”Good idea, buddy,” mused Tony, glancing at his friend over his shoulder. ”Now, though, I'm going to go eat so why don't you go learn something new, like how to make cats like you, or something.”

Vision looked intrigued by the prospect of cats. Tony hoped he would be intrigued enough so he would forget to mention Tony's slurring and stumbling to Rhodey.

*

More than once did Tony consider going living in Malibu or building a new home altogether. It was hard to live in a house full of reminders of the people who no longer were there – to find Steve's missing pen from under the couch pillows, to detect a pungent smell only to realize he had stumbled upon Natasha's Secret Stash of Fresh Oranges which, by now, was full of rotten oranges and banana flies. Pepper had been careful to clear Tony's home off all her possessions, but Tony could still see the memory of her smile reflected on the windows, hear her soft sock-clad steps and the sharp click-clack of her high heels echo in the hallways.

So yes, he had considered leaving, more than once. He wouldn't leave, though, _couldn't_ leave, because he needed to be strong for his two remaining friends, one of whom was trying to learn to walk for the second time in his life, and the other who kept floating through concrete walls like the ghost of a lost puppy.

Among the richest people in the world he though may have been, Tony couldn't afford to be selfish now that his friends needed him: Vision was generally lonely and kept gazing down at the busy streets of New York through the windows as if he was yearning to be a part of everything his sharp gaze took in. Rhodey, for his part, needed to focus on getting better and he wouldn't be able to do that if he had to constantly remind Tony to eat, sleep, stop drinking, stop insulting people and do all the things Tony generally had trouble with doing. Okay, yeah, fair enough - Tony was technically drinking again, but it wasn't like Rhodey knew that, and it was all well and good as long as Rhodey didn't find out. Tony just had to be careful so Rhodey wouldn't find out about the drinking and it would all take care of itself.

Tony looked after his friends the best he could, but he knew he wasn't good at it, he was aware he was lacking in many ways. Sure, he built Rhodey stuff to aid his walking, an improved model after an improved model, and he bought Vision some kind of a yellow lively puppy for company, but some things were beyond his intelligence and wealth - he could not erase the emptiness of their home, or ease their worries for their absent friends. Basically, despite of his efforts, he was doing fuck all.

He missed all his friends, but to make things worse, Tony now missed Steve more than he hated him. He missed Steve as Steve had been - he missed the annoyingly righteous man who had told him to mind his language, who had told him to stop eating with his mouth open, who had leant over at the breakfast table and asked him quietly if he was all right after Tony had had a bad night (because somehow Steve had _always known_ when Tony had had nightmares).

Stupidly enough, Tony was also having trouble looking after his own physical needs - and how embarrassing was that! Usually someone – either Steve or Pepper – had coaxed him into eating and sleeping regularly when he was having bad days, but now there was no-one there to do that and Tony couldn't risk worrying Rhodey with such trivial things. Eventually he had coded FRIDAY into giving him regular notes on when to put food into his mouth and when to go lie on a bed till he had rested enough, but his nightmares were back full force and he had begun to have panic attacks again.

More often than not, his nightmares were now of Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Sometimes they killed him, sometimes his parents, sometimes Rhodey. Once they killed _Steve_ which. Well... Yeah.

He supposed he had to look okay, though – way better than he felt – as neither Rhodey nor Vision had commented on his appearances and since the press hadn't put his health into spotlight. According to Rhodey (who thought it was hilarious), Tony had even made it to the top of the list of the Most Eligible Bachelors, so Tony concluded he had to be doing relatively well in the eyes of the public. Which was. Odd. He supposed, for the lack of a better word.

Precisely four months after Steve's letter and The Phone had arrived, Tony was given an award for his inventions that ”improved the quality of everyday life of handicapped people”. Rhodey beamed at him from the front row as he accepted the award, but Tony felt awkward and uncomfortable because, next to Rhodey, there was a muscular blond with sincere eyes and a straight back, and he reminded Tony so much of Steve that he felt a lump forming in his throat and he had to clear his throat several times before he could give his speech.

He began the speech by thanking his mom, avoiding looking at the front row's sincere Steve.

When Tony got back home, he went straight to his most secure desk and took The Phone out. He flipped it open and stared at the screen.

Eventually he closed it and put it back into his drawer.

Then, angry with himself, he took it back out, scanned the contact list which still only had one number on it and sent a text to that number. 

_I drew a dick on your face, you dick._

He regretted sending it as soon as he had hit "send".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :) Thank you for the kudos! All feedback is welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

It took Steve six minutes to answer.

The two fast beeps, the notification of an incoming text message, sounded loud in Tony's ears and suddenly his heart was beating frantically in his chest and his tie felt far too tight. With shaking hands, he pulled the tie loose and let it drop onto the floor, trying to calm his breathing.

After four months of silence and reading and rereading Steve's letter – four months of nightmares and heartache and constant worry – it felt almost incomprehensible that it had only taken Steve minutes – _mere minutes_ – to text him back. Tony wondered if Steve had been carrying his cell on his person all this time, just waiting for Tony to contact him or if it was by chance that he had been near enough to it to reply so fast.

He dared to wonder if Steve might have missed him, like he had missed Steve.

A darker, more bitter side of Tony's mind suggested that it hadn't actually even been Steve texting him – that it wasn't Steve who had sent him The Phone in the first place. Sure, yeah, FRIDAY had confirmed that The Phone, the letter and the box in which The Phone and the letter had arrived were all covered with Steve's fingerprints, but there had to be dozens of boxes, outdated phones and papers on which Steve had left his fingerprints over the years. Steve had a neat handwriting, one that wouldn't be too difficult to forge. Perhaps someone was deliberately trying to fool Tony into believing that he was in contact with Steve Rogers when actually they were trying to gather some intel or come up with discriminating evidence against him or the other Avengers in this manner. Perhaps The Phone was a trap of some kind, a tempting lure, and Tony had only managed to make things worse for everyone by keeping it. Steve might not even have any idea of The Phone's existence.

Tony wouldn't have put it past someone like Ross to come up with the whole idea.

With his mood darkened by his suspicions, Tony reached for The Phone on the desk, sinking into the office chair as he cautiously opened the device.

One message had been received.

”Fuck it,” he muttered before raising his voice, ”FRIDAY, any progress on locating the cell to which the number on this cell's contact list belongs?”

”Obviously not,” came FRIDAY's exasperated answer. ”I would have otherwise informed you. I am still working on the tracing, just like I have been for four consecutive months – not that you've ever thanked me for it – and I will let you know, if I find something. You do know you didn't make me incompetent, boss, don't you.”

”Sure,” Tony agreed, ”though I clearly should've given you less sass. I just need you to do your job, not talk back to me. Why the heck did I even end up giving you personality?”

The question was rhetorical – JARVIS would have known not to answer it, but FRIDAY's programming was different and therefore she couldn't be faulted for giving a reply.

”It must have had something to do with the way you made me on the same Friday Miss Potts left you, boss. Do you wish for me to put a more detailed analysis up on the holo board?”

”Don't you dare,” sighed Tony, rubbing his eyes tiredly. ”Just... let me know, if you manage to trace the cell.”

”Of course, boss.”

FRIDAY fell silent, and Tony hold onto The Phone a tad bit tighter.

Now there was nothing to it, but to read the text.

> _Tony,_
> 
> _All vulgarity aside, it's a good idea to draw. I have found it therapeutic myself; I am now working on a portrait of Pete Coscarart. Feel free to use anything you find in my art studio – or yours, I should say, since you were the one to pay for it all. I hope to hear from you again soon. Please don't hesitate to call or text me._
> 
> _Your friend (whether you believe it or not), Steve_

Tony read the text three times before he snapped The Phone closed and put it back into its drawer. Slowly, he stood up and bent down to pick the tie up from the floor.

If the text hadn't been from Steve, someone was playing a cruel game.

Tony could have easily called the number to have FRIDAY analyze the voice on the other end, but he pretended hard that the idea hadn't yet occured to him: If it wasn't Steve on the other end, he almost didn't want to know it, not yet. Instead, he wanted, if just for a few days, to let himself _believe_.

*

”I have a mission for Iron Man,” said Ross by way of greeting, placing a paper sheaf between the yoghurt and the granola with a little more force than strictly necessary. 

”Good morning to you too, General Ross,” said Rhodey with a false smile, while Vision inclined his head in a polite greeting and Tony – well, Tony ignored Ross and took a careful sip of his hot coffee.

The rich smell of coffee – Bruce's favourite brand, produced to fair trade standards – filled his nostrils. There was a blueberry muffin – baked to perfection by Vision (and seriously, one day Tony would totally convince Vision to profit and found a baking company, Vision's muffins were heaven in paper cups) – waiting for him to eat it so, all in all, he might have felt pretty good if it wasn't for, you know, the general in the room.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, Vision, Stark," said Ross, not sounding at all like he thought it was a good morning.

"So, how's life?" Rhodey went on conversationally, pouring himself more coffee. "I'm not asking because I care, mind you, but this is the first time in six days that Tony has actually had time to sit down to eat breakfast, let alone with me and Vision, so I'm trying to enjoy it and maintain a pleasant atmosphere for as long as it's possible."

Tony felt a pang of guilt. It was true that he hadn't been eating breakfast - or spending much time otherwise - with his friends in some days, even though he was well aware that they needed him. It was just that work had kept him busy - The Stark Industries had had urgent need of him due to an unexpected absence of one of the more important board members: Mrs. Hilmberg-Reynolds (or Holmberg-Ronaldson, or whatever her name had been, something with bergs or borgs and hyphens) should make a full recovery, but the heart attack had been unexpected and the presence of Tony Stark himself had been needed at the firm. Tony had gone to see Mrs. Hilmberg-Reynolds-Ronaldson and he had even remembered to bring flowers for her because he had happened to recall - at the last minute, but still - that that's what you were supposed to do when you visited someone in a hospital. (He just hoped that five buckets full of tulips was considered enough. It was usually Pepper who had dealt with these things. Tony didn't know how Pepper had always managed everything so well - it had been difficult to carry all those buckets.)

"The world can't wait for Tony Stark to eat his breakfast," said Ross drily. "We can't all rely on our wealth and live comfortably in our towers above everyday concerns."

"You could have at least called," Rhodey insisted. "We could have arranged an official meeting. Proper channels and all that, now that we work for the UN."

Ross let out a noncommittal noise and took a liberty of sitting down at their breakfast table. Onto _Natasha's_ seat, Tony thought darkly.

"Speaking of calling," said Ross, turning his full attention on Tony, "have you happened to have any recent contact with, say, one Steve Rogers, formerly known as Captain America?" 

Tony took a sip of the coffee. He had known to expect the unsubtle question. For months now, Ross had asked him something along the same lines every time they had met.

"Sure," he therefore snorted. "We text each other all the time. Just the other day I was telling him about this work of art I made - I call it The Schlong because it was, you know, a postmodern take on a penis - and then we discussed the merits of art therapy."

Ross' face reddened and Tony could see his eye twitching. The sight cheered him up considerably – perhaps the morning wouldn't turn out too badly after all.

"Mr. Stark," it was almost a growl, "I asked you a serious question and I do not appreciate that nonsense you gave me for an answer! Nick Fury might have put up with your childish, disrespectful behaviour, but _I am not Nick Fury_ and I demand that you conduct yourself with more professionalism or there _will_ be consequences."

"He's sitting at his own home, trying to enjoy breakfast," put in Rhodey who sounded and looked exasperated. "I say he can behave just as childishly as he wants _in his own home_. If you want professionalism, _call beforehand_ and arrange an official meeting."

"He always puts me on hold!"

"I'm a busy man," said Tony and reached for his muffin. 

By the time Tony reached for his second muffin, the more or less unofficial meeting had progressed without much participation on his part. Rhodey and Vision were already going through the sheaf of papers, while Ross was looking at Tony's muffin with disapproval with his nose all wrinkled as if Tony was eating raw fish entrails instead of a perfectly lovely muffin.

Upon noticing that Tony's gaze was on him, Ross cleared his throat, crossing his arms on his chest, and gave a bit of a nod towards the muffin.

”Too much sugar,” he grumbled. ”Not enough vitamins. That's hardly a healthy breakfast.”

”It has blueberries in it,” Tony defended the muffin. ”And it's bad enough of you to interrupt my breakfast so don't you go criticizing my choise of nourishment, too. It's none of your business what I decide to feed myself with.”

To emphasize his words, he took a big bite of the muffin, humming loudly with pleasure. Ross frowned. His eye kept twitching. It was difficult to say which one of them disliked the other more.

Rhodey let out a sigh and gave Tony a nudge in the arm.

”Eat your muffin, Tony, and shut up.”

 _Eat your muffin and shut up._ That Tony could do, and so he did.

”This mission is just for Iron Man?” Vision inquired, studying the papers with a frown, while Tony munched his muffin, making sure to eat it as loudly as possible to annoy Ross. He didn't think it was petty at all. ”If I am understanding the situation right, the UN wishes to send Anthony to take down a terrorist cell in Awjilah, Libya. It cannot be a simple mission for one man – would it not be safer if I were to accompany him?”

”Stark has experience in taking down terrorist cells on his own,” said Ross, glaring at Tony's muffin, visibly annoyed by the loud munching based on the deepening shade of red on his face. ”The UN experts are positive that only Iron Man is needed for this job. There is no need to overexert our resources – the budget is limited, after all.”

Rhodey gave Ross a dark look, leaning forward in his chair.

”You're not saying,” he said, narrowing his eyes, ”that the UN is seriously considering sending my best friend to a terrorist cell _alone_ because it would be cheaper than sending another Avenger there with him.”

Ross shifted on his seat, looking suddenly a bit defensive.

”There aren't currently all that many Avengers available, if you hadn't noticed,” he said, and Tony swallowed a mouthful of the muffin to cover the way the truth still _stung_. ”We are now working with what we've got. And no, Mr. Stark would not be going to the cell by himself, but in the company of trained Libyan soldiers. His function there would be merely to provide backup in case it would be needed rather than to be the one to engage the terrorists.”

”I still don't like the sound of this,” said Rhodey, giving Tony a concerned look. ”With all due respect, General, _this_ ,” Rhodey tapped a random paper with his forefinger, ”would be his first mission since the Avengers...” he hesitated for just a second, ”split up. Tony should not go on his first mission alone.”

” _With all due respect_ ,” Ross threw Rhodey's words back at him, uncrossing his arms, turning his head to look Tony straight in the eye, ”you have brought the situation on you yourself.”

Tony fumbled for his coffee mug, unable to meet Ross' gaze. Suddenly pestering Ross had lost all its charm. Tony felt dull and his thoughts rounded on The Phone and the text he had received six days earlier, presumably from Steve.

_I hope to hear from you again soon._

_Your friend (whether you believe it or not), Steve_

”However,” Ross continued, ”if Stark doesn't feel 'up to it', we will be sending Natasha Romanov in his place.”

Both Rhodey and Vision began to protest, but an odd sense of calm – or was it anxiousness, it was difficult for Tony to tell them apart these days – had filled Tony's mind.

”I'll do it,” he said because there wasn't much else left to say.

Better him than someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you'd like to read more. :) Thank you for the kudos and comments!


End file.
